


How Deeply Seated In The Heart

by Angie (Angie13)



Category: Gunslinger Girl
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angie13/pseuds/Angie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the most self-contained girl can have corners of her mind that exist out of her control.  Claes deals with such things in her own manner.  (Set early in the series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Deeply Seated In The Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlitpurple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlitpurple/gifts).



She always put her glasses on before anything else in the morning, her hand reaching across to pick up the delicate wire frames from their resting place on the little ledge attached to the railing surrounding her upper bunk. Even before she sat up, her fingers would close on the glasses. Sometimes it struck her as a strange little habit in light of the fact that her eyesight was perfect; she well knew that the glass within the frames was only clear, a nod to vanity and appearance. Yet she could never seem to bring herself to break the habit. 

It was such a harmless thing, she reasoned. A simple quirk that bothered no one and never kept her from her duties, few as they were. She still reported for the testing and she still tried as hard as she could, obeyed as far as her small frame allowed her.

Sometimes she paused as her hand reached but she always completed the motion. In that moment, she almost always tried to remember something that lingered just out of reach. Something that felt familiar and important. Something about gentleness.

She could not remember… And sometimes it bothered her.

*

“You said she was antisocial, Triela, but I thought you like Claes. You seem to get along so well and you room together.” Henrietta blinked at the taller girl. 

Claes could not quite resist a smile as she lingered just out of sight, not needing to see Henrietta’s expression to know what it would be. The little brunette always seemed to regard things beyond her comprehension with the same bewildered confusion as a week old kitten opening its eyes for the first time. Personally, she had no idea how the younger girl managed to maintain such naivete in the face of what they all did. Perhaps it had something to do with Jose and how he coddled and protected her. 

Without conscious thought, Claes sniffed in disdain. More than any of the other fratello teams, those two played at happy families. It was small wonder that Henrietta pined when away from her handler; she had no independent identity. And to think this was all without heavy conditioning! Just tenderness and kindness and almost fawning attention. 

Others could learn from Jose’s example in how he molded Henrietta into a perfect little weapon, despite the fact that Claes felt relatively sure that the man created his devoted helper without any direct intent. Jose, too, had the air of a small kitten about him, only he also carried the air of only having three legs but being determined to pretend everything was alright and the lost leg had only momentarily gone elsewhere. He was a far cry from his brother’s cool professionalism. Rico was also a perfect weapon but that was as much her sunny, obliging temperament as it was Jean’s heavy hand. 

Triela’s laughter interrupted Claes’ thoughts and she felt her own answering smirk at her roommate’s response. Triela and Hilshire represented an entirely different dynamic, one the other girl was quick to dismiss with a shrug. She always let it go. Unlike the others, Claes never saw the point in prying and, more to the point, had no interest in exploring a relationship she did not have.

And never would again.

Intellectually, theoretically, Claes knew that she had been assigned to a handler at some point. Someone had taught her to shoot straight and perhaps even think strategically for all the good both skills did her now. The important thing remained that she had no handler now. Her job at the Agency kept her confined and solitary and, if she ever wondered about the man (for surely it was a man) who had taught her and molded her, she dismissed it as unimportant. What was done was done and no wool gathering could change that.

Giving herself a shake, she refocused on the conversation around the corner, Henrietta’s unsure words skittering while Triela’s scampered. She adjusted her hold on the tray and, with a nod, moved forward. Just as she always did.

“So I’m antisocial, am I?”

*

In a place like the Agency, free time existed at a premium and Claes found even her own building-bound days full of activities. So, when a day slowed and she found her hours returned to her, she took them gladly and spent them in her own way. She read endless books and baked too many cakes, giving them all away to the other girls as her sweet tooth barely existed and the hobby stemmed more from interest than craving. She sketched until it became natural to move the pencil over rough paper to trace out the lines of a leaping fish or a graceful tree. 

Then there was her garden to visit and nurture. At this point, it was only a few flower boxes arranged on one of the low walls near the dormitory but she had written a very polite, very reasoned letter seeking permission for a plot of land to fill with controlled greenery. She had no reason to think Jean would deny it. She always made certain her few requests were presented perfectly, just in case.

She had never, in her memory, been denied a request but, perhaps more than the other girls, she was aware of how memories could be shaky, uncertain things.

That knowledge only made the simplicity and the predictability of seeds and plants and sunshine and water all the more charming. Claes rocked back onto her heels and regarded the small bits of defiant green poking up from the rich soil with quiet pride. Fresh herbs would be welcome additions to her cooking experiments. 

She made a mental note to show Henrietta when the younger girl had returned from her mission. If her garden was approved, her first choice for assistant would be Henrietta, she decided. Triela found too many other things to occupy her when she was in the dorms, Angelica was too frail, and Rico… Claes shook her head a bit before dusting off her hands and standing. She stretched absently. Rico would be willing but did she really want to risk Jean’s icy regard if she distracted the other girl from training? Not hardly. It would completely fly in the face of the peace and sweet contemplation that she associated with gardening.

Sometimes it was the purest moments of nothingness that meant the most. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and inhaled the thick scent of moist earth and growing things. The sun shone warm on her fair cheeks and a slight breeze stirred her loose hair. She let the moments wash over her. Her mind quiet and still, she allowed all of her senses to wander until she lost count of her own heartbeats and every inch of everything felt melted into the world around her. It was a beautiful world and sometimes the best way to appreciate it was to simply exist.

In a busy world and a rather temporary life filled with obligations and tests and medications and orders, sometimes it took the wisest of people to know the value of idleness. Not laziness, not apathy. Just those gentle moments where one could pause and exist as part of the world, not trying to change it or control it. One could sit and watch the sky cycle through all of its moods, all of its colors, she thought, until the entire universe seemed to change into something completely new. 

Sometimes it was the idle time that made everything else come into perspective. Someone had taught her that. Of this, she was absolutely certain and, in those times, she could almost touch him again in her mind.

*

The weight of the hoe resting at her shoulder made her smile a bit as they made their way down the sheltered walkway, skirting the central fountain and courtyard in their pursuit of the land gifted to her by Jean. Her mind filled with the plans sketched over notebook paper and she cataloged the list of seeds kept in their neat packets, waiting for the welcoming earth. The plants would have much more room to grow. Window boxes and planers were all well and good, pretty for what they were and refreshing to see, but an entire proper garden represented to much more opportunity. If she wanted, and she rather thought she did, she could grow enormous squash - pumpkins and zucchinis and eggplants. It was all a matter of space and nurture. Her book on vegetable gardening gave very good directions on it all and she had faith in her ability to follow the logic and steps. Who knew when the knowledge of vegetables might come in use?

Henrietta’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts and she felt something almost like laughter enter her voice when she explained at least some of her thought process. She felt sure there was a good reason for her agricultural desire but, as with many things that she only felt deep inside, she would not bother to vocalize the thoughts aloud. For Henrietta, a “just because” more than answered the other girl’s curiosity. She knew that the little brunette continued to regard her as something a bit foreign and unfathomable. 

The thought usually amused her.

When Henrietta spoke again, though, the trace of humor fled and Claes felt her spine straighten at the mention of loneliness. Of course, she was lonely. She would have to be blind, deaf, and stupid as a rock to recognize her lack of the one thing all of the other girls had over her despite her freedom from fieldwork and access to endless hobbies; she had no handler. There had been one, of that she was certain. No fratello was broken without good purpose. Even sickly Angelica had the coolly distant Marco tied to her side. 

Not Claes. Claes had only herself.

“I’d die of loneliness if I didn’t have Jose here.”

And usually herself was enough. 

Tightening her jaw, she bit back her first words and waited a half heartbeat before she stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the other girl. Henrietta’s eyes widened and she shrank back at the unexpected ferocity in Claes’ dusky violet eyes. Though her mouth only reflected the sudden ache in her chest with the slightest of downturns, her entire posture telegraphed caution and warning to Henrietta. Before she could quite control her tongue again, she answered in sharp, decisive tones. 

“Listen, happy girl. If I’m lonely one evening, I’ll decide that for myself.” 

Henrietta nodded with quick agreement and a wave of uncomfortable shame touched Claes at the reaction. She had not meant to be so blunt. Perhaps Triela was right. Maybe she was a bit antisocial or maybe she was just becoming that way from her isolation. No fieldwork with the other girls, no handler… Letting her shoulders drop, she tried the effect of a faint, lopsided smile on Henrietta. The immediate relaxation in the other girl brought on even more guilt and she sighed internally. The kitten had her claws in, that was for sure. It was both exasperating and amazing. She wondered how Jose ever dealt with it on a regular basis; a few simple hours of it tired her and wore down her manners.

She hoped she had never been like that. If she had been so skittish and earnest, her handler would have growled at her. Perhaps barked an order to refocus her. Claes did not know how she knew this but the truth of it sat heavy in her stomach suddenly and she shook her head. There was no point in torturing herself with trying to remember something the Agency had taken away. She knew better than that. For instance, she had learned to let the few moments of knowing memory drift into her mind without question. Don’t examine the past too much, she told herself, because you might find it flimsy and unreal.

As she turned on her heel and started for the future garden site again, Henrietta at her heels, Claes suddenly thought of fish and sunlight on water and quiet conversations with a rough, halting voice. Handler or not, Claes was never truly alone. She had herself and her mind and a strange legacy of unknown things. That would do. She did not want another handler. Even without remembering him, she knew that no one could match what her previous handler had given her.

*

The key warmed quickly in her hand, small metal teeth pressing into the soft flesh of her palm, as she walked down the familiar hall with carefully measured steps. She never ran, even if she wanted to - not here in the dormitories, not on the Agency grounds. Only sometimes in her mind and sometimes in her dreams did she rush through the halls and it was always searching for someone she knew was already gone. At all other times and realities, though, she walked at the same unhurried pace, the regular soft sound of her footsteps known to the other girls in the dormitories.

For a moment, she stood outside the familiar door. Usually she opened it without hesitation and strode through into her own private retreat, the wall of tall bookshelves welcoming her like old friends. Now, however, she paused and considered. Henrietta’s words still lingered in the back of her mind. Though she had already given them far more consideration than she would have liked, they refused to leave and she caught herself in a rare daydream haze as she studied the solid door before her. A fleeting sensory memory, damp hair and soft pajamas, drifted through her mind. She started, shook her head, and stretched out her hand to slip the key firmly into the lock.

She hardly knew why she bothered to lock it. As far as she knew, no one else ever entered the small, spartan room. The bed along one wall remained perpetually unmade save for the blanket she kept there for cooler nights spent reading. No decorations littered the desk, no pictures on the wall. Not a single shred of personality existed in those four walls aside from the real treasure in the room. The cheap bookcases stretched nearly to the ceiling and each shelf groaned under the weight of books. Whoever had collected them all there had a very eclectic mind, she had long since decided. Topics ranged from gardening to Roman mythology to wildlife on the African plains. Many of the books were dog-eared and well-thumbed, clearly used for proper reading and not simply decoration and pride.

Claes liked that. Books were meant to be read and she took quiet pleasure in being the one to perform this duty now that any previous owners had moved elsewhere. Sometimes she wondered who they were. None of the books had markings or bookplates or anything that could be interpreted as a clue. A few had some notes in margins and highlighted lines but nothing that proved helpful.

In the end, it hardly mattered who owned the books or how she came to be the guardian of them now. The important thing was the peace she found in the room and the endless variety of things to learn, held protected and safe and quiet on the shelves like soldiers waiting for marching orders. Someone had given her the key. Someone had known she would appreciate the gift and trusted her with it. While it was not a secret (the other girls knew and sometimes requested a loan and the handlers undoubtedly knew as well), it felt more precious and selfish than anything else in her world, bound by the walls and rules of the Agency.

It was special. It was hers and it meant, that at some point, someone had loved her enough to give her this knowledge.

She only wished she could remember who.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my tolerant roomies and my sweet betas. 
> 
> The title is taken from the following quote, "How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening" - Alexander Smith.


End file.
